


Like Some Lonesome Child

by LaVeraceVia



Series: Stars in the Southern Skies [3]
Category: From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series
Genre: Barely Legal, Birthday Sex, Dirty Dancing, F/M, Fingerfucking, Grinding, On the Run, Recovery, Road Trips, Self-Discovery, Underage Drinking, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-09 06:00:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1971609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaVeraceVia/pseuds/LaVeraceVia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They learn how to be comfortable around each other. They learn how to trust another person again. Then they become friends."</p><p>The story of Kate and Seth in the months after they escape the Twister.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Some Lonesome Child

The first few days after they escape the Twister are a blur. She plays it tough when she asks Seth to take her with him, but all she sees later, as the miles drag on, is the look of desperation on her Daddy’s face in the moments before she killed him. He'd said he found his hope in his baby girl's eyes, but Kate knows what she'd seen down in those tunnels was the death of her Daddy's hope. And then a second later, as she’d pushed the stake into his chest with a wet _thunk_ , the life followed.

She knows her Daddy gave up on God in his final moments. She’s scared God gave up on him.

These thoughts play over and over again in her head, pain throbbing so hard in the center of her chest that she can barely breathe around it. She tries to hide it, scared Seth will notice and decide she’s a liability, but Seth barely looks her way.

And so she slides, sideways and downwards, into a soft dark place inside where nothing hurts. She's not scared here. She’s not Kate here. She’s not anything.

She stays in that nothing place for a long time.

Seth brings her out, days later, when she’s not ready to come. She doesn’t want to be a part of this world now; maybe not ever.

She tries to find her way back to the darkness, but then Seth’s screams pull her back. The misery in his face keeps her there.

She can see he's coming apart at the seams, and all she can do is put her arms around him, trying to hold him together with the sheer force of her body. She tells him they’re going to be okay. She decides in that moment it’s going to be true.

The morning after she comes back to the world—from wherever she was—is a fiasco of awkward. She and Seth wake up tangled together, collapsed sideways across the bed, with him underneath the covers and her on top of the covers (and him), still grasping him tight, like he might come to pieces even in his sleep if she lets him go.

Seth’s weird about it, weirder than the whole thing already is: springing out of bed like he’s been burned, pacing and barking orders (“Get up. Get ready. We gotta move. That means now. Come on, kid, _á_ _ndale_!”) as he stomps around the room, throwing his clothes on and refusing to make eye contact.

Kate learns two things about Seth that morning (three if you count what he looks like in his underwear). One: he has a tattoo of flames, black thorny-looking things, covering his right arm from wrist to shoulder. And two: he’s been bitten.

The bite stands out on his neck, a livid purply-red color, like the worst hickey ever, with two deep puncture wounds in the center, still shiny and just starting to scab over.

When she asks him about it, he gets twitchy, his eyes unsettled and his answers evasive. But he recovers the exchange with the caustic tone that seems to be his usual defense: “I'm just peachy, Princess. Venom free, so no need to fret about my welfare. Or yours.”

He thrusts his hand in the sunlight streaming through the window to prove it, turning it palm up and letting the light trail through his fingers.

He’s still naked from the waist up, and as she watches him, standing in the sun, there’s something about all that bare skin that skitters in the pit of her stomach, makes her feel nervous and kind of shaky. It hits her that she’s in a hotel room alone with a man. A half-naked man. And that she woke up with her head pillowed on his bare back.

When he catches her staring, his smile is mischievous, and maybe a little mean. “Hoping I’d sparkle?”

She escapes to the bathroom so she doesn’t have to look at him anymore.

They leave. And they keep on leaving. They stay on the move, never lingering in one place too long. They avoid all but the most necessary human contact, fearing who or what might be on their trail. It’s hard to guess how far the reach of the _culebras_ extends, but as Seth is fond of reminding her, the odds are rarely in their favor.

There’s a shaky truce between them after that night. They don’t fight, but they don’t exactly get along either. It’s not like the two of them have much in common, apart from the horrors they experienced at the Twister, and even that's colored by the few hours before, when Seth and Richie were the things to be feared.

Kate thinks Seth can’t forgive her for seeing his vulnerability laid out so nakedly that first night. And, even though she tries not to think about it, he’s got a whole list of sins she can’t forgive him for. But still, there’s no talk of them splitting up. They’re all each other has left.

They sell the Corvette at a garage in Mazatlán. The place is owned by an American ex-patriot, a chatty old hippie that Seth keeps referring to as “Tommy Chong,” behind his back. Whoever that is.

The guy seems happy to see other Americans, and he starts asking questions, the normal sort, about where they’re from and what brings them to Mexico, and for the first time Kate gets to see Seth at work without a gun in his hand.

Right off the bat, he spins this ridiculous tearjerker of a tale – apparently they’re siblings who’ve traveled to Mexico with nothing but the Corvette and the clothes on their back, hoping to start a new life after their parents died in a tragic boating accident. _Seriously?_ she thinks, trying not to laugh. _Are we supposed to be_ _the sisters from Frozen now?_ But he’s so good she almost believes him herself.

He’d thrown out his blood-stained suit and now wears a t-shirt and pair of jeans he’d picked up at their last stop. Between his new attire and his mussed, sweaty hair, he bears little resemblance to the smooth be-suited bank robber from just days ago. It makes him look younger, softer somehow, and he's every inch the disheveled, grieving older brother when he throws a protective arm around Kate’s shoulders, pulling her close to play his trump card.

His voice goes soft and rough, “It scares me to think what would have happened if Katie hadn’t insisted I take her to Bible study that afternoon. I thank God every day that I still have my baby sister here with me. I just don’t think I could go on without her.”

His eyes glisten with big, unshed crocodile tears, and as Kate watches, the hippie’s eyes start to mist as well. It’s awful, totally not funny in any way, except that it kind of is, and Kate has to press her lips together and hide her face against Seth’s shoulder to keep from laughing.

Her shoulders shake as she tries not to giggle, and Seth pats her back in a warm, big brotherly fashion. “There, there,” he says, “It’s alright, Katie-cakes.”

 _Katie-cakes._ It’s like somebody’s thrown cold water over her.

Her Daddy would be ashamed of her right now, and the thought is awful enough to stop any humor she might have had cold. The thought of him re-opens that gaping hole in her chest, and she shrugs Seth’s arm off, pushing him away in her desperation to be anywhere but here.

She’s already walking away from the garage when she realizes she has nowhere else to go, so she ends up back at the Corvette.

She’s still there when Seth comes looking for her a little while later, wearing that familiar self-satisfied smirk.

“Nice job, Princess! I think your performance at the end really helped seal the deal back there-” he trails off when he sees her face.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, looking around suspiciously, like he’s going to find the cause in one of the shop’s employees.

She shakes her head, swiping angrily at the tears that won’t stop coming, mad at herself for crying and even madder at Seth for making her cry. “You! You’re what’s wrong. Why did you make up that awful story?”

“It’s not like I could tell the guy that we stole the car and need to fence it for cash because we’re on the run from a bunch of murderous Mexican Draculas,” he sneers. “So what’s the problem?”

“The problem is, I know what my Daddy would think of what we just did. It was _wrong_ , manipulating that poor man like that!” she cries.

“Poor man?! Seriously, kid?” Seth is incredulous. “Okay, that ‘poor man’? Do you have any idea how he's bankrolling Margaritaville?” he sticks his thumb over his shoulder, pointing at the garage and the buildings grouped around it.

She frowns, shakes her head.

“Yeah, it's by reselling illegally-appropriated goods. Our old friend Chong back there is running a chop shop, where he makes his profits selling stolen vehicles and their deconstructed parts. The guy's making a killing pushing those parts on idiot American tourists in need of repairs, who'll pay him anything so long as he doesn’t speak Spanish to them,” he says. “Look around. It’s all right there for anybody to see, if you look hard enough.”

Seth’s dead serious now, not a trace of his earlier mirth to be found. “Now, as I’m not a regular member of the crew that he most likely maintains to boost said vehicles, no doubt this asshole would have tried to pay us a cut rate for the Corvette, re-sold it for ten times that, and expected me to thank him for it. Under normal circumstances, I'd just beat him until the stuffing comes out and then rob him blind after; but I figured you'd prefer a softer touch. So thanks to my remarkably convincing storytelling skills and your striking resemblance to a Kewpie doll, we played _him_ instead, and got a damn good price. Not half of what it’s worth, but enough to last us for a good while. And he threw in some new wheels for us too. No one gets hurt, everybody's happy, and our pony-tailed friend over there gets to pat himself on the back for a deed well done.”

Kate feels stupid. And guilty. She about to apologize until he continues, “So, while my methods don’t exactly live up to the standards of the saintly Pastor Jacob Fuller, they’re what’s keeping us alive for the time being, and I’m pretty sure even your _daddy_ would approve of that.”

Her heart throbs with protectiveness and grief for her father, for everything he was. And that righteous anger comes roaring back. She shoves him back with two hands to the chest.

“Don’t _talk_ about him like that!” she snarls, meeting his eyes angrily.

He turns his back like he's going to walk away. Gets a couple steps away and comes stomping back.

“Oh _Christ_. Like what, Princess?” he spits out.

“Like he was some…superstitious HICK who was too DUMB to know any better!” she fires back, hearing her own voice crack.

Seth runs both hands down his face in exasperation. He takes a deep breath and blows it out, shaking his head, looking at the ground. Then he looks up and takes a step closer to her.

Kate’s heart skips a beat. She doesn’t think he’ll hurt her, but what if she’s wrong? She barely even knows the man.

She steps backwards, pressing herself against the side of the car. But Seth just lays a hand on both of her shoulders and lowers his head so he can meet her eyes on her level.

He says, “Okay, listen up Princess. I don’t think those things about your father. I swear. What I think is that he was an honest man, a good man, and there aren’t many of those left. Even when he lied to you, it was because he was trying to protect you, and it showed. Jacob Fuller was decent and faithful and just, and he saw the world from that perspective. But the world’s not decent or faithful or just, and if you want to survive in it now, you can’t afford to be either. You get me, kid?”

She wipes the tears her face again, pushing down the pain and the rage, trying to ignore the gaping hole in her. She knows those things aren't because of him, not really, and so she fights the urge to just strike back at him, to make him hurt too, and instead tries to actually hear what he has to say.

She wants to survive. And she knows he's right, at least partially. But she refuses to be his burden or his punching bag. And she needs him to know.

She tells him, “My name is Kate. Not Princess, not kid, _not_ Katie-cakes. Never Katie-cakes. Just Kate. And I don’t agree with you.”

She cuts him off when he starts to reply. “But I understand what you’re trying to say, I think. And I get that you know a whole lot more than I do about surviving out in the world. So we’ll do things your way, for now. But I'm not okay with hurting people. Ever. And I want a say in what we do, and where we go. So from here on out, if you want me to cooperate, you let me in on what you’re planning. Deal?”

She sticks her hand out.

He just looks at her for a second, then shakes his head again. He chuckles incredulously and grabs her hand with his own, giving it a firm shake. “Deal, ki— _Kate_. You’ve got yourself a deal. Now come on, let’s go check out our new ride.”

Their new ride turns out to be an old green rag-top Jeep with a lot of miles on it. It doesn’t look like much, but Tommy Chong swears it’ll last, and after a quick inspection Seth agrees that it seems to be in fairly good condition.

They say a brief but awkward goodbye to the old hippie. He gives Seth a manly clap on the back, tells him to “Hang in there, man,” and then attempts to chuck Kate under the chin like she's a little girl. She dodges back at the same time Seth tries to bat the guy's hand away.

Then they're on the move again.

Things get better between them after the garage, less weird. They learn how to be comfortable around each other. They learn how to trust another person again. Then they become friends.

It all starts at the church. A few hours outside of Mazatlán, Seth pulls up in front of an old stone-front Spanish mission. The sign out front reads _Iglesia del Sagrado Corazón de María_.

When Kate give him an incredulous look, Seth confesses stiltedly, “I just thought, you know, maybe you'd want to light a candle for your dad or pray, or something. I know you're not Catholic, but...” he trails off awkwardly.

Kate can feel her lower lip trembling at the kindness of his gesture, and she turns her head to look out the window so he won't see.

When she says, “Thank you,” her voice is steady.

He declines her invitation to come along with a grin, “Not exactly my scene, sister,” so she tells him she won't be long.

The church is beautiful on the inside. It's vacant, being a weekday, so it's also quiet and peaceful.

But Kate doesn't feel any peace.

She looks at the cross over the altar, so much like the one in their church at home. Then she thinks of another cross, the one that had no effect on that creature back at the Twister when her Daddy held it in his hand.

And she wonders where God was that night. She wonders where He is now.

She prays. She doesn't know if God is listening, or if He cares, or if He's even there at all, but she prays anyway. She prays for her Daddy, and for her Mama, that their souls are at rest, and that they find each other in Heaven.

She prays for Scott, that he's alive, and safe, and that he doesn't lose his way. That he's not alone, wherever he is. And that she can see him again one day.

Then she finds herself praying for Richie. She prays that he's not hurting anyone, if he's still alive, and that no one's hurting him. She prays that he finds some peace, for Seth's sake.

She prays for Seth last. She has a feeling that maybe no one's ever prayed for him before, and she doesn't know what exactly to pray for, so she prays that God sends Seth what he's searching for. That he finds what he needs, whatever that may be.

She finds a triple row of candles beneath a statue of the Virgin Mary, and lights one for each person she said a prayer for, hoping that maybe the Mother of Jesus will help, even if Her Son won't.

She starts to leave then changes her mind, moving back to the little alcove where the statue sits. She takes off her necklace, the one with the cross, and leaves it at the feet of the statue, not sure if she means it as an offering or a rejection.

If Seth notices her bare neck, he doesn't mention it.

She finds a knife waiting in her seat back at the car—Seth's present to her, acquired from the open air market across the street, while she was in the church giving up on God. The sheathed blade is narrow, about seven inches long and just the right size to slide down into her boot.

“Just in case. I know you have a hang-up about hurting people,” Seth says. “But I figured, snake-faced bloodsuckers, less so.”

He holds the keys up, shaking them so they jingle. “Now tell me Princess—ah, sorry. Kate. Where to?”

She looks at him. Thinks about it for a minute. She smiles a little bit when she holds her hand out expectantly. “Why don't you let me decide this time?”

They split the driving after that, with a silent agreement that whoever is behind the wheel gets to pick the destination.

The truth is, Kate doesn't have a direction in mind any more that Seth does. They wander aimlessly for a while, learning the lay of the land. They learn about each other too, sharing stories to pass the time. Seth tells Kate about his criminal past, and Kate tells him about her life in Bethel. She talks about Scott sometimes, remembering his love for crappy comic books and manga, even telling Seth about the trip her whole family took to China to bring him home, when she was just five. Seth doesn't mention Richie much, unless he's recounting a heist they pulled, but there's tension in his voice every time he says his brother's name. All Kate knows is that he must have escaped the Twister too, and whatever he did to Seth, it was bad.

Seth still has the nightmares, the ones he wakes from screaming, at least a couple times a week. Kate has her share of bad dreams too, but nothing like the things that plague Seth. She doesn't know what horrors he sees in these dreams; he always says he doesn't remember them in the morning. But whatever it is, it's enough to leave him fighting for breath and covered in sweat every time.

After about a month of roaming aimlessly, they catch a lucky break at a roadhouse in Oaxaca. Kate's the one who overhears their first lead. She'd taken four semesters of Spanish in high school, inspired by thoughts of a missionary trip to Central America one day, and so her Spanish is pretty good; better than Seth's at least, and more than enough to get them where they need to go.

There's a disheveled old drifter belly up to the bar: drunk and apparently out of cash, offering to trade an amazing story – _El Cuento de Johnny Madrid_ – for another drink. He looks no different than the dozens of itinerants she's seen like him at this point, but it's the words he uses, _serpiente puta,_ snake whore, that catch her attention.

The guy introduces himself as Porfirio. The two of them ply him with drinks and he tells them haltingly, half in Spanish and half in broken, slurring English, of Johnny Madrid, the outlaw who was bitten by the serpent queen, lured by her beauty, and after nearly becoming a serpent himself, escaped with his life and humanity intact.

“Ask him again,” Seth says, his deliberate, even tone doing nothing to hide the excitement in his voice. She questions the guy again to be sure, but the story is the same—this guy, Madrid, had turned _culebra_ , and then somehow managed to turn back.

They leave that night for Juárez, the last known whereabouts of Madrid, according to Porfirio, who gets three beers and the motel room they'd already reserved for his trouble.

The trip takes them right to edge of the Mexico/US border, way too close for Seth's comfort, but the city's abuzz with talk of a new rash of killings on the Texas side of the border, and no one seems to care about the hunt for the Geckos anymore.

They don't find Madrid, but they find another lead that sends them to Chihuahua, then another there that sends them to Guadalajara.

They're chasing a lead in Monterrey, and Kate's worried that this hunt has become a wild goose chase, when they're attacked outside a bar by two _culebras_ , one of whom demands to know where to find “HIM, that _pinche cabron_.”

They survive, badly bruised and severely shaken, but mostly unharmed, and with the knowledge that they're on to something real.

Seth leaves another present on her seat in the jeep the next day, a Walther P-22. The gun is lightweight, and small enough to fit comfortably in her grip when Seth shows her how to hold it.

They take the Jeep about a mile off-road, in a empty stretch of desert. Seth stands behind her, arms bracketed around hers, bracing her body against his when she jumps back from the recoil the first time she fires. He adjusts her grip and her stance and makes her shoot over and over again, until she doesn't flinch when she pulls the trigger. Then makes her keep on doing it, until she hits the Coke bottle targets he sets up more times than she misses.

He shows her how to fight dirty, how to use speed and surprise to compensate for her size, and after he teaches her how to throw a punch, he teaches her how to throw a knife. She's not as good as he is, but she learns how to hold her own.

Maybe it's all the grappling they've been doing, bodies close as he teaches her how to survive, or maybe it's just a by-product of living in each others' back pockets for so long, made worse by his complete and utter lack of modesty, but Kate's been ultra-aware of Seth for weeks now, of his body especially—the breadth of his shoulders, the slope of his back, his presence in the room, his proximity to her. She refuses to think about what it means at the time, boxing the thoughts into a safe little corner of her mind. But it leaves her on edge.

Five times in the past two months, she's woken in the middle of the night from a half-remembered dream of touches and bare skin, heart pounding as she grips the sheets while the muscles at her core tremble. It's more than a little embarrassing, and she's always kept quiet, stifling her gasps, terrified of waking Seth.

Sometimes she thinks she catches Seth watching her too, when he doesn't think she's looking. She wonders if he's feeling the same formless pressure, waiting for it to explode, and wondering what it means.

When the trail runs cold in an ocean-side town called Salina Cruz, Kate's ready to beat her head against the wall. She's sick of the never-ending search for Johnny Madrid – a guy who may or may not exist, who may or may not have survived the Twister, and who may or may not be in town – and something feels like it's gotta give.

They decide to stay for a little while, so they can catch their breath and plan their next move. It's the off-season, so lodging is cheap, and they're able to rent a tiny villa near the beach. They're still there when Kate turns eighteen, and Seth insists they do something big to celebrate.

Seth's not a big fan of dancing, or clubs, as it turns out, and his idea of “something big” doesn't involve either of those things. But Kate's does. And she's beginning to think she could write a book: _How to Argue With Seth Gecko and Effectively Hold Your Own._

“Clubs are loud and dirty and gross Kate. And they smell.”

“You took me to a strip club the first day we met. Not a leg to stand on there Seth.”

“I had a good reason!”

“So do I.”

“Look, kid—don't frown at me like that, I can still call you that until midnight—these places are full of creepy, pervy guys, just looking to hit on teenage girls.”

“Yeah, but I'll have you. You've killed creatures of the night. What's some creepy drunk guy next to that?”

“I'm a bad dancer.”

“I probably am too. Because I've _never been dancing_.”

“My head hurts.”

“You know what I've heard is good for that? Shots. In a club. Which is where I'd like to be. For my birthday. You know, my eighteenth one.”

“Kate.”

“Seth, come on. Please?”

He sighs.

She smiles.

They go.

The club, a place called _El Loro Azul_ , is every bit as loud and crowded as Seth predicted, but significantly less smelly. Seth immediately leads her to the bar with a hand at the small of her back.

“Come on, I'm going to need drinks, plural, to get through this. And somebody’s gotta teach you how to do a tequila shot the right way.” he says, speaking loudly so she can hear him over the music.

“But you already taught me how to do tequila shots, back at the Twister, remember?” she says.

“That is not how you do a tequila shot. That's how you drink so you don't backhand your own little brother. Or shoot yourself at the stupidity of your own plan,” he cracks.

“Barkeep!” He yells genially, motioning to catch the attention of the man behind the bar. “ _Dos caballitos de tequila, por favor_!”He grins at the look on her face. “Don't look so surprised Princess. Even a lost cause like me can learn the language when the payoff is worth it.”

Four shots later (two for her, two for him), they make it to the dance floor.

The song's lyrics make her feel like someone else.

_Live fast, die young, bad girls do it well..._

The thumping beat mixes with the tequila in her blood to make her whole body sing. The sensation curls around her spine, lighting her up from the inside out, settling in her fingertips and her toes, her breasts and hips, making her aware of her body like she's never been before. She feels lighter, like she's been cut loose from gravity. It's exhilarating, but also kind of unsettling, and she craves the contact of another body to anchor her back down to earth.

She watches Seth as he dances near her, only inches away on the cramped dance floor, and wonders if he feels the same way.

He meets her stare, dark eyes twinkling with mischief and challenge, playful smile echoing more of the same. The hair at the nape of his neck is damp with sweat, more of it beading on his throat and slicking his bare shoulders and arms. She itches to get her fingers on that slick skin, to drag her hands and mouth across the heat of his body.

 _Screw it,_ she thinks, and moves closer, closing the gap of scant, modesty-preserving inches between them so her body brushes against his, their knees bumping as they move.

He raises an eyebrow, amused but wary, and starts to lean back a little, but she wraps an arm around his neck before he can move away, going up on tip-toes and pressing her chest to his, leaning in closer to speak into his ear.

“You lied to me! When you said you couldn't dance!” she yells over the music.

“I said I wasn't _good_ at dancing. Never said I couldn't!” he tosses back. “Thought you said _you_ couldn't dance!”

“Didn't know until I tried!” she announces gleefully. “And your dancing looks pretty good to m—oof!”

She's cut off, bumped hard by a dancer behind her, and she loses her footing, stumbling forward into Seth. She almost goes over, but he reacts quickly, taking the weight of her body as she falls against him. Any lingering space between them is eliminated, pressing their bodies flush from shoulders to knees.

Seth's face registers the shock of their closeness when she falls against him, his normally impassive expression going breathless and open for a moment before he hurries to prop her back up and let go. Her body slides against his as she drops the last couple of inches to gain her feet, grabbing his biceps for balance.

She comes down with his thigh pressed between her legs, hard up against her pubic bone. They both freeze, neither sure what happens now.

Then the music changes, turning to something slower, with a low, growling bass line, and it awakens that itchy, bubbly feeling in her blood again. She relaxes against him, breath sighing out as she presses her face against his neck, getting used to the pressure of his thigh between hers, shifting just a little bit, situating him more firmly against herself.

“Kate...” he says low, apprehensively, in her ear. “This is an incredibly bad idea.”

She stays where she is, shakes her head slowly, enjoying how it moves her lips against the hot skin of his neck as she murmurs, “You promised we could dance.”

She goes up on her toes a second time, body still pressed against his, and _slowly_ sinks back down until her heels touch the ground, just to feel his body sliding against hers again. As her weight bears down on his thigh, it pulls the seam of her shorts roughly up against her body, parting her and making her desperate for a more substantial touch.

He lets out a low groan, setting his hands back on her hips. It's then that she's sure they're really doing this, that he won't say no.

“Seth,” she breathes.

She reaches down to adjust his arms, sliding his hands down until they rest on the curve of her bottom. His fingers flex once, a involuntary, spasmodic motion. But he doesn't let go – his hands stay where they are, cradling the swell of her rear.

Then she begins to truly move, letting the bass guide the sway of her body, urging him to rock in tandem. He complies, haltingly at first, then with increasing intent.

He presses his face against her hair, rumbles low into her ear, “ _Shit._ What are we doing here Kate?”

She doesn't speak but answers him just the same as she grinds her hips in a tight circle against his. Keeps doing it. She brings her mouth against his in a tentative, feather-light kiss. She waits for him to respond but he doesn't, still letting her take the lead; so she kisses him a second time, letting her mouth stay pressed against his this time, breath co-mingling between their parted lips.

She has no idea what she's doing when, flying on hunger and instinct, she rubs her mouth back and forth against his, lips still open, like the world's dirtiest Eskimo kiss. They pass noises back and forth between their open mouths, grunts and sighs, little almost-sounds that she feels as much as she hears.

He groans again, heavier this time, and kisses back, _finally_ , pressing his lips hard against hers.

He breaks the kiss to rest his forehead to hers and say, “ _Fuck._ Okay, fine. You win Kate.” Then he's kissing her again.

And he's good. He's so good. Better than Kyle ever was. He sips at her mouth, laving the tip of his tongue at the sensitive softness of her upper lip, right below the cupid's bow, coaxing her tongue out to meet his. He encourages her, sucks her tongue into his mouth, presses his tongue against it in the most obscene way, then reverses the motion, pressing forward, _fucking_ his tongue into her mouth.

His hands tighten against her butt, lifting a little, and pulling her against his body in a way that flattens her breasts against his chest. She's bra-less beneath the silky material of her shirt, and the pressure makes her nipples tighten, sore and tingling with an ache that spreads down her body to lower places, begging to be touched.

Their hips rock roughly to the beat, and they're not dancing at this point, she knows, so much as having sex with their clothes on.

He's hard. She can feel him pressed stiff and hot against her belly. Just the thought makes her hot, hotter than she already is, and so, so sensitive, like all the nerves in her body have migrated to her groin.

She throws her head back, breaking their kiss in her desperation for air. She pushes her hair back out of her face and gasps, but it does nothing to slow the pounding of her heart or the trembling in her legs and stomach. She can feel the heat spreading up her chest and neck in a flush. She needs something more, something she has no words for. It makes her want to wrap her thighs around his hips. Instead she clings to him tightly as she rides his thigh _hard_ , frustrated and wanting.

“Seth!” she gasps out, between clenched teeth. His eyes are closed but they fly open when she calls his name. He stares at her face like he's never seen her before, his pupils blown wide with arousal.

“I want...I need...I – please!” she gasps, unable to articulate the desperation she feels.

He watches her, searching her face, then incredibly, stills his movements, halting her as well with a hand pressed firmly at the small of her back.

 _No._ This is the exact opposite of what she needs. She starts to push back, anxious not to lose the friction, but he strokes his hands down her back, gentling her, soothing. His next words stop her.

“It's okay sweetheart, I've got you. I've got you. We'll get you there, I promise. Just not here.” He smiles reassuringly, but there's else behind the expression too.

They lean against each other, still and motionless in the middle of the frenetic movement of the dance floor. She can feel his heart thundering in his chest where it presses against hers.

He takes her hand, and she follows on shaky legs as he leads her out of the club and into the night.

They stop once, when she can't stifle the need to move her body against his any longer. They kiss, but Seth pulls back before it gets anywhere, refusing to be deterred.

A few short minutes later, they end up down by the shoreline, on the beach near their villa. It's deserted this time of night, and the noise from the houses nearby seems distant and faded.

She's on him again the minute they stop, mouths and bodies pressed together, the urgency she felt in the club just as strong here. A small part of her mind, the last remnant of the person she was before she met the Gecko brothers, marvels at her boldness, how she's touching him and how she's letting him touch her. But even that part poses no argument to her driving need for _more –_ more of what he's doing to her, and more of the feel of him.

She still wants to feel his skin under her hands, so she pushes her hands up the back of his shirt, dragging her palms upward against the heat of his back, then back down again, fingertips sliding through the sweat beading on his spine. It makes him startle a little, apparently ticklish. She continues her exploration downwards to grip his firm butt. She squeezes, hard, and feels his hardness jump a little in response against her belly.

He breaks their kiss to suck in a harsh breath through his teeth.

“Christ, Kate,” he laughs, but it's mostly humorless, as he shakes his head. “I'm going to hell.”

She presses both hands together against his chest, palms resting side-by-side over his breastbone. His ribcage lifts with every deep breath and his heartbeat pounds underneath her hand. He raises his eyes to meet hers.

“No you're not,” she says.

His dark eyes are unreadable. “Sure, Princess.”

He reaches behind her, dragging his middle finger slowly upward across the seam of her pants, where it lays between her legs, pushing inwards a little. She cries out, a breathless whine, and quivers as he smiles. “Whatever you say.”

She wants to assure him that he's already been through Hell, they both have, and she's never letting him go back again. But her brain is foggy with pleasure and need, and before she has time to form a coherent thought, he's sliding the strap of her shirt down her arm and pressing open-mouthed kisses across her bare shoulder. And her thoughts go floating away, like dandelion fluff on the wind.

She's still reveling in the feel of his mouth on her bare skin when he asks her quietly, “Have you ever had an orgasm, Kate?”

“W-what?” she stutters.

He spins her around so she's facing away from him, looking out across the starlit water as he repeats himself. “I said, have you ever had an orgasm? With someone else? By yourself?” He pulls her back by her hips so her bottom is pressed against his clothed erection, bumps himself gently against her a few times, breathing hard.

“I-I...” She's stuttering again, but it's hard to think, much less speak, when he's sliding the strap off her other shoulder too. Her shirt loses its battle with gravity, the silky material slithering down to her waist, baring her breasts to the night air.

He raises his hands to cup her bare breasts, not moving, just holding her. She gasps desperately, feeling her nipples harden against his palms.

“Hmm?” he makes a questioning noise as he noses her hair to the side so he can kiss the back of her neck.

He presses his lips there once, then stops, breath puffing against her nape as he waits for her answer.

She tries to pull herself together. Shakes her head. “No,” she breathes, “I haven't.”

But she has. Or she's dreamed about it at least. With Seth in the room, no less. At least his question means he's never heard her.

But he's not done asking questions. “Has anyone ever touched you before? Like this?” He spreads his right hand on her stomach, palm flattened against her belly, moving slowly downwards until the tips of his fingers dip just underneath the top of her underwear, teasing.

“Once,” she gasps out. “Kyle...”

“Churchboy?” She can hear the smile in his voice as he pops the button on her shorts and pulls the zipper down slowly, tooth by tooth, then slides his hand all the way down into her underwear, cupping her gently, palm resting against the hair there. She yelps, crying out again at his closeness, her legs trembling. The sensation of his hand against her is deliciously vulnerable.

“Was he any good?” he asks, sounding genuinely curious. But there's a hint of smugness there too, like he already knows the answer.

And he'd be right.

She'd let Kyle touch her once. A couple of months after Mama died, he'd convinced her to come out with him to the movies, just to get out of the house. He'd kissed her, and she'd let him, because it felt so good to feel something other than sad. Kissing turned into petting, and then Kyle wanted to put his hand down her pants, to touch her there. And she'd let him do that too. But it didn't feel good. There wasn't enough room in her jeans, and his hand was jammed too tightly against her, and it hurt when he'd tried to push a finger inside, so she'd made him stop, embarrassed and sore. They'd never tried again.

It felt nothing like it does now, as Seth parts her with his thumb and ring finger, dipping just the very tips of his index and middle fingers inside, then moving back out again, pushing the wetness he finds there farther forward, stroking back and forth over the throbbing place that makes her jerk when he touches her.

She moans, and the noise that comes out of her is high and desperate. She reaches down to press her hand over his through the barrier of her shorts, holding him in place.

“So that's a no on Kyle?” he guesses.

“It's a no,” she gasps out, laughing a little at the ridiculousness of the question.

He presses kisses against her jaw and ear. “Good,” he praises.

His free hand is placed high on her belly, where he can brace her as he moves the fingers of his other hand against her in slow, easy circles, while still pressing a thumb up every so often to strum at her nipple. Her hips grind down in counterpoint to his movements. She's never heard herself make anything like the sounds now escaping steadily from her mouth—high, needy little gasps and wordless pleas.

Slowly, he pushes one finger into the opening of her body, sliding it in and out, until she thinks her legs are going to give. He moves the thumb of that same hand against her, still circling and pressing, as he slides another finger up slowly beside the one already inside her. The sensation is an achy, incredible stretch, and she moves her hips just a little against it, testing the feel, as the pressure builds almost unbearably.

“Oh my god, _Seth_ ,” she bites out.

“Yeah baby girl, you're so good,” he cajoles, thrusting his fingers a little, pressing his thumb down a little harder. “Come on, let it come, let me see.”

“I'm...I'm... _oh!_ _F-fuck_!” And she explodes, pleasure coursing through her as her body shudders and trembles and comes apart in what feels like a thousand glittering pieces.

Her body sort of wilts from all the sensation, going loose at the knees and waist, so he has to press her back against his body with both hands, mouthing at the back of her neck while she writhes, riding out the aftershocks.

When it's over, and she can stand on her own again, she turns in his arms, hugging him to her body as she presses her face to the side of his throat and scratches her nails through the hair at the nape of his neck. She laughs, euphoric. “Oh my _god_ , Seth. Is it always like that?”

He's the one who sounds shaky now, voice wrecked as he replies, “Not even close.”

She raises her face to kiss him. He responds, but only for a second, before pulling away, avoiding her eyes. She frowns, presses forward to kiss him again, and that's when she realizes: he's still hard. _Of course._ No wonder he's unsettled. But she can fix that. She wants to see what _his_ orgasm looks like now.

When she lays her hand against his erection, he gasps like he's been punched. But he pushes her hand off and backs up, turning his hips away from her.

“What the hell, Seth?” she's hurt, the pleasure she felt just moments before leaking away.

He waves his hand dismissively. When he looks at her again, the walls are down. He gives her a pained smirk.

“I may be a bastard, but I'm not a fucking bastard.”

  


***

  


_From the shadows, an observer watches as the couple grinds against each other in the club, each lost in the feel of the other, consumed by pleasure, and later follows them to the beach, staying well back to avoid detection, sometimes trailing them on the scent of their arousal alone—an incredible cocktail of inexperienced exhilaration from her and painful, aching restraint from him._

_The observer sees as Kate comes apart in her lover's arms, unaware of the struggle marring Seth's face as he cradles her from behind. The observer watches dispassionately as the couple leaves, Kate's back rigid as she leads the way, while Seth trails behind, hanging back and allowing her to enter the villa alone while he remains outside, pacing._

_The observer follows Seth as he escapes back down to the beach when he hears the shower start up, to distance himself from the temptation he knows is just inside the villa._

_He smirks at Seth's frustration, amused at his self-flagellating indecision, and steps from the shadows, purposefully making enough noise to alert Seth to his presence behind him. The smirk becomes a full-on grin when Seth sighs in resignation, his shoulders tightening defensively, and says, without turning his gaze away from the sea,_

“Hello Richard.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading this monster (the longest thing I've ever written, short of my undergraduate thesis)! Or, as I like to call it, The Fic That Nearly Broke My Brain. But after three rewrites (and much wailing and gnashing of teeth), the fic and I both survived. Yay.
> 
> I'm not a native Spanish speaker, so any translation errors (of which hopefully there are none) are due to the shortcomings of my Google-fu.
> 
> The first song Kate and Seth dance to in the club:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Iw3aoIIKPps
> 
> And the second, slower one:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2CaypEojjKQ
> 
> All feedback is appreciated! <3


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